


Just What I Needed

by Michelleleahhh



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Romance, What's My Number fusion, movie!Everlark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-02 04:34:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4046146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michelleleahhh/pseuds/Michelleleahhh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Katniss Everdeen grows tired of being a virgin, she compiles a list of acceptable men from her past to lose it to. The only problem is she has no idea where to find them. She enlists the help of her womanizer neighbor, Peeta Mellark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

Banner by Any ([Loving-Mellark](http://loving-mellark.tumblr.com/)). Ain't it awesome?! 

 

All mistakes are mine. Please feel free to complain to me.. I'm [BottledMichelle](http://bottledmichelle.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. 

* * *

 

 

“You can’t really be a virgin,” Johanna says in skeptical disbelief over her martini. 

 

Katniss scowls at her co-worker and friend, “Why would I admit to that.” She immediately regrets her words, realizing now, for the first time in her twenty-four years, that she regrets being a virgin. And as if her brain were a second person it retaliates brutally, reminding her that It’s better than being pregnant at sixteen with no career. 

 

But still, she wonders if she made a mistake. If somewhere along the way she was meant to sleep with one of the many men who got away. 

 

“I don’t know, for attention.” Jo shrugs taking a gulp of her drink and signaling the waitress for two more even though Katniss’ has yet to be touched. 

 

“Drink your martini,” she commands with an icy glare. 

 

So Katniss takes a gulp, the liquid burning as it trails down her throat. “What do you think?” 

 

“About your Hail-Mary Virginity?” Katniss levels a glare at Johanna’s question and looks around to make sure no one overheard them, the last thing she wanted was to be is the loser virgin. “I feel like I should have known. I mean I’ve worked with you for three years, been friends with you for one, and I’ve never even heard a peep about your sex life, or guys in general. You’re so… prudish. Especially when it comes to going out.” 

 

“I went on a date with Thom Aldrich,” she defends instantly. 

 

“One date doesn’t count.”

 

“So, what should I do?” 

 

Johanna scoffs, “What? You’ve been a virgin your whole life and now only think about losing it? That’s stupid.” The waitress drops off two more lemon drop martinis. 

 

“Can we have two shots of tequila?” Katniss asks. There’s only one intent for the night: get drunk and hopefully forget everything that has taken place today, including that stupid article. 

 

She was at the doctors office when she read, “ _What Men Think About Your Number_.” The article was in _Time_ , a magazine she thought was meant to be harmless and informative. Instead, with rapt interest, she discovered being over the number 14, and under the number two is actually absurd for anyone over twenty-two.

 

No guy would actually settle with her, according to Jenna Kauffman, the writer of this misogynist post. And then, any thought of Katniss being sexy and pure dropped to the bottom of her stomach. 

 

 

This morning she woke, thinking she had made a name for herself rather than her sex life. Now, she’s some twenty-four year old virgin who no man will want to touch… again according to Jenna Kauffman.

 

Johanna breaks Katniss out of her thoughts, “I mean, if you want to lose it… lose it. I did when I was like fourteen. But make sure you’re doing it for you and not for anyone else. Don’t be brainless about it.” 

 

“Brainless,” Katniss raises an eyebrow. 

 

“Your new nickname.” 

 

Katniss isn’t losing it for anyone else, she thinks stubbornly hiding her scowl behind her glass. Then her shots arrive.

 

Ninety minutes later, Katniss slurs, ”I know!” After two shots of tequila and the shot of whisky Johanna insisted on, Katniss knows everything.

 

“A vibrator doesn’t count.”

 

“I’ll make a list!” She says excitedly, purposefully ignoring Johanna’s quip. 

 

Johanna finishes her drink, “Wow, you’re a slut now too.” 

 

“A list of the people who I _could_ have had sex with. You know, like the people who wanted me to have sex with them, but I ignored them. I can make a list and just re-try them. Maybe I was just too picky.” 

 

“Standards, they get you every time,” Jo agrees. “You’ll have to find them.” 

 

“I know,” Katniss smiles, downing her drink. But in this social, multi-platform age, she thinks it’ll be easy. 

 

* * *

 

Like usual, the elevator has a “Do Not Use” sign on the doors. Katniss stops and cocks her head at the crooked and skewed reflection that stares back at her. She’s not ugly, not particularly pretty either in her opinion. She’s fit, toned, thin, with dark hair. She doesn’t even know why she’s never had sex, or even thought about it. 

 

And as she starts wondering about the sex she may soon be having, she somehow stumbles up to the sixth floor. Her heels are clutched in her left hand as she starts walking down the hall, thinking of all her neighbors. 

 

604\. Tina …Something… She always blares Green Day on Tuesdays like she’s still living in 2003. 

 

606\. Annie. Intense dog lover. 

 

608\. She stops instantly in front of his door and scowls. 608 is habitual one-night-stander.

 

One night, after too many drinks like tonight, she left her apartment and stomped to his door. She raised her fist and punched the wood six times before screaming at the top of her lungs, “Must you always wake the floor up with your mating rituals?”

 

She then stomped back to her room, making as much noise as humanly possible in a 110 pound body and slammed her door behind her. 

 

Then, two weeks later, she reopened her door to find him on the other side. Her cheeks brightened instantly, but her lips tugged down, as she remembered her actions. It was his own fault she acted like that anyway. 

 

He claimed he locked himself out and she was the only one who answered his knock. She mentally cursed, and had half a mind to just slam the door in his face. Instead, she let him in. 

 

He toured her apartment, looked at the pictures on her wall and asked about Gale. She told him the truth, because the truth was always simpler than some random lie and she can’t lie for shit. 

 

The truth is, they were just two friends who lost each other through bad timing and poor communication skills. That’s it.

 

He just smiled and said, “Well, if you ever need help finding him, I have some good face-stalking skills.” She shrugged away his joking offer without even a smile. 

 

Why would she ever want to get into contact with Gale Hawthorne?

 

Why would she ever want to get into contact with Gale Hawthorne… The list!

 

She stares at the wood of Peeta’s door and smiles. Her hands reach for the knob without thinking about it. As she turns the knob, she’s surprised when the door opens. Although, she shouldn’t be that surprised… he’s probably waiting for some girl to visit him in the night.

 

But as fate would have it, when the door slowly opens, she hears wet lips. She should turn and run to her apartment, lock herself in there and forget all about her idiotic ideas. But instead, a plot begins to shape in her head as she treads slowly and silently through his apartment. Katniss finds him pressed underneath some blonde on his couch.

 

“Peeta!” She shouts, rushing over to them. Their lips break and he carelessly throws the girl off of him, his head snapping to where he heard his name. 

 

He looks at her, his eyebrows furrowing with confusion “Katniss, wh-”

 

“Mom’s sick, she’s in the hospital we have to go,” she rushes taking his hand and pulling him off of his ratty couch. The girl he was kissing just stares angrily at her as if she has seven heads and wanted to rip all of them off. “Come on!” Katniss pulls on his arms, ignoring how his grip tightens and his eyes begin to sparkle.

 

“Sorry, Glim. I’ll talk to you later,” Peeta apologizes superficially, touching her shoulder, before Katniss pulls him jarringly across to the apartment door. “Just let yourself out,” he calls. 

 

Katniss looks over her shoulder when they get to the door, and notices how the girl just stares pointedly at Katniss, a frown and glare marring what is a very, very pretty face. Her stomach immediately plummets when she realizes what she did, but she doesn’t stop. Instead, Katniss just pulls Peeta through his door and down the hall, leading him quickly into her own apartment. 

 

She sifts through her black purse, trying to find keys, but her hands are shaking when she finally manages to pull them out. 

 

Peeta doesn’t say a word, he just stands to her left, his eyebrows lifted as he watches her closely. 

 

When she finally gets him through her door, she slams it and turns around to stare at him. His blonde hair falls messily into his eyes, probably from the girl who was just perched on his lap. As she stares at him, she realizes that he’s standing in just his boxers. 

 

A very pointed pair of boxers.

 

“Hi,” he begins cautiously, not even attempting to hide his arousal. Did it just twitch? Her eyes lift to meet his. 

 

"You're going to help me,” she tells him pointedly. He follows her helplessly into her living room where she pulls a blanket off the back of her couch and hauls it at him.

 

She may want to lose her virginity, but nudity still makes her uncomfortable. 

 

A smile alights his face as he wraps himself in the quilted cover. “With…” his eyes squint as he trails off. 

 

Her cheeks heat instantly, trying to remember what her original plan was when she stomped through his door. “You’re going to help me lose my virginity.” 

 

“Oh,” he gapes at her, as if trying to figure out if she is serious or not.

 

“Alright. This is new,” he laughs ludicrously and drops the blanket, “Let’s get started.” His fingers reach for his boxers. 

 

“No!” She shouts covering her eyes instantly. “No,” she waits a few seconds then separates her fingers to see if it’s safe. She finds him staring at her with a damned smirk on his face.

 

When it’s safe, she continues, “You’re going to help me find all the could-haves.” 

 

“The could haves?” he asks in confusion. 

 

She sighs impatiently, how many times does she have to tell this plan tonight? “Any person who I may have had a slight romantic link with deserves a revisit. One of them has to be the right one.”

 

“Oh,” he says, then nods. “Well then let’s get started. Do you have the list?” He asks, grabbing the blanket from the floor and sitting on the couch. He picks his feet up and drapes them on the coffee table. 

 

“Not yet…” 

 

“Well get to it women, do you want to die a virgin or something?” He asks impatiently with a joke light in his voice. 

 

She sits next to him, and he toys with his phone showing her he’s going to type the list on his phone.. “Number one,” she starts, looking over his shoulder, as he begins to type. He makes eye contact with her and waits for her to continue. “Gale Hawthorne. G-A-L-E…” 

 

His fingers type quickly and she watches them dance across his screen. She doesn’t even wonder why this isn’t weird. 

 

* * *

 

She wakes up to an apartment that smells like pancakes. She hates pancakes. 

 

Katniss scowls and sits up on her couch, wiping the drool from her face, and horrifically remembers the night before. She thought alcohol would help forget. Instead, it just brought everything back, along with a few mistakes, tenfold. Her hand grasps the glass of water that was left for her and chugs from it. 

 

Why did she go to Peeta Mellark’s apartment? 

 

She vividly remembers Peeta Mellark sitting next to her. She remembers drunkenly telling him every single detail about her non-existant sex life. Then she remembers quite literally passing out on him. Like actually falling asleep on his lap, his skin underneath her cheek. 

 

She silently prays, fruitlessly, that it was a dream. But then, as if God wanted to inflict more horrific karma on her, there’s clattering coming from her kitchen. She gets up and stretches, trying to keep the vodka in her stomach. Her mouth tastes like a mini-bar. Stale. She quickly goes to the bathroom and brushes her teeth to get rid of the taste before going to see who invaded her kitchen, thinking that it’s Prim.

 

Instead, she finds a fully-dressed Peeta Mellark with a towel slung over his shoulder as he flips pancakes on the stove. She doesn’t miss the way that his shirt clings to his biceps, or the way the vein in his forearm raises when he grips the pan. 

 

Katniss clumsily falls into the kitchen bar-stool. 

 

“How nice of you to join me drunkie,” Peeta teases. As his hands effortlessly flip the pancakes onto plates, she just grunts a noise in response. “I made chocolate chip pancakes, hope that’s okay. I was _going_ to make them with blueberries because you seemed like a fruit person, but then I opened your fridge.” After he turns off the stove, he swivels around to look at her. 

 

“Did you know your missing an entire food group? It’s called fruit, there’s actually health benefits to it.” 

 

“I hate pancakes,” she tells him dismissively, ignoring his comment about fruit, while eyeing the plate as if the food was going to jump off and grab her. 

 

“Who hates pancakes?” Peeta questions. 

 

She levels a glare at him. “I do.”

 

“Well you’ve never had my pancakes,” he boasts cutting a tiny piece of the meal onto a fork and holding it out to her. 

 

It’s nice that he’s made himself comfortable in her kitchen. She bitterly realizes he probably knows his way around better than she does. If apartments could come without kitchen’s, she’d be fine. That’s what take-out and pre-made food is for. 

 

Peeta dangles the fork in front of her, as if the small piece smothered in butter is meant to tempt her. Instead, it repulses her.

 

Reluctantly, she takes the fork from his hand and bites into the fluffy breakfast. Unfortunately, it’s actually good. Her eyelids flutter shut, and her voice squeaks when the chocolate melts into her mouth with the salty butter. 

 

“Good?” 

 

She looks at him and notices his smirk… that smirk. God she hates that smirk. 

 

“It’s okay,” she lies. Then hands the fork back to him with a shrug, “I guess I’ll have one.” 

 

His smirk grows into a grin, knowing he’s just won a reluctant compliment from her. He puts two on her plate, along with a mound of butter. 

 

“Why are you here?” She asks, shoveling the food into her mouth with little regard for niceties.

 

“I’m hiding from Glimmer. You know the girl from last night.”

 

“She’s still there?” Katniss asks, her headache starting to lessen. 

 

Peeta stiffly nods and pours her a glass of milk, then somehow produces a tylenol from one of her kitchen drawers. She was wondering where that bottle went last time she drank. 

 

“Want me to get rid of her?” 

 

Peeta’s eyes dance to her, “You’d do that?” 

 

“I mean…” she takes a sip of the water and takes the pill. “You’re still in… on what we talked about last night, right?” Her voice grows quieter and her skin heats just from bringing up the night before.

 

“Yeah, I love corrupting virgins.” 

 

“That doesn’t surprise me.” Katniss states, pursing her lips into a scowl. She looks away then back to Peeta. “I mean, if you’d do that for me, then I’ll do this for you. Like you can hide here, from all your women tracking you, and you can help me.” 

 

“Deal,” Peeta holds out his hand for a shake, and she takes it reluctantly. 

 

Ten minutes later, she re-enters her apartment to find a clean kitchen and a list stapled on her far wall. Peeta’s staring at it from the couch and her laptop balances on his lap as he ferociously types. 

 

“What are you doing?” She asks, an edge of irritation laced in her voice. 

 

His head just furrows closer to the computer. “Finding information.” 

 

“From?” 

 

He sighs. “My eldest brother works for the police, when I was younger he used to take me on stake-outs all the time.” He tells her, finally looking into Katniss’ silver eyes. “I’m using his login shit to see if any of these people have addresses in the system.” 

 

“That’s illegal,” she informs him, then realizes he probably already knows that. 

 

“Do you want to find Gale Hawthorne or not?” 

 

“Gale Hawthorne is in Europe, expanding his father’s new coal company. You’ll never find him in _that_ system.” 

 

Peeta shrugs, going back into her laptop as Katniss sits next to him. “Well, he’ll take a while. But we can have some fun with the… Darius O’Hagens of the world?”Peeta turns the computer to so she can read it easier. 

 

Darius O’Hagen was arrested for a DUI. 

 

“No,” Katniss shakes her head. 

 

Peeta looks at her, “But he was on your list.”

 

“No, I recant that name. He’s not meant to be on the list. Absolutely not. I was drunk, and didn’t know what I was saying.” 

 

Peeta’s face brims with laughter, “Recant? Is this because he used to pick his nose at the office.” 

 

“No this is because… no. I have standards thank you very much.” 

 

Peeta nods and smiles crookedly at the computer. “Well he lives in town so if you change your mind… Though, I’ve heard the Irish aren’t that good in bed.” 

 

She scowls at him and he pretends not to notice. 

 

“Hey, while this is running background checks, maybe we can do some food shopping. You know? Maybe get some fruit.” 

 

“What is this fruit you speak of?” She asks while standing to grab her purse, then turns around and stares at him until he moves.

 

Peeta stands up and stretches, his shirt riding up above his pants. She remembers what his chest felt like under her cheek. She hopes that someone else will feel like that. 

 

When they finally get to the door he lightly holds her elbow to stop her. 

 

“Are you really a virgin?” 

 

She looks at him confused, didn’t he just go along with everything they talked about. “I mean… yeah. Unfortunately.” She shrugs his comment away and pulls away from his touch. 

 

“That explains _mating rituals_ ,” he says with a grin. 

 

“Ha. Ha.” She says, going through the door, already hating this arrangement, but something has definitely shifted between them.  

 

* * *

 

Her door opens with a resounding thud. 

 

“I found him,” Peeta gasps, as if he ran seven miles instead of from down the hall. She watches as he walks over to her, papers in hand. 

 

“Gale?” She asks excitedly, sitting forward on the sofa and forgetting all sense of awkwardness or formality. Over the past few weeks, they’ve gotten close. Hanging out. Him cooking for her. Who knew home-style cooking could be so good? And he also made her try pineapple, a fruit she actually enjoys eating. 

 

Nonetheless, she shouldn’t be this excited to see Peeta, except for the fact she’s actually grown to some-what (not totally) enjoy his company.

 

“No,” Peeta tells her, “I told you the rich ones are hard to get a hold of. But don’t worry, I’ll find him.” 

 

“Then who?”

 

“David “The Marvel” Stanton.” Peeta says with a smile, showing her some of the papers in his hands. Her face instantly falls, as she slumps back, reading the papers with uncaring interest. He sighs, sitting next to her on the couch. “I know he was last. But listen, not a bad looking dude. Runs his own business, lives near-” 

 

“He’s a magician,” she snaps throwing the papers on the coffee table. 

 

“But he’s a good magician,” Peeta smiles. “Look, I found a video of him.”

 

Katniss groans, and cradles her head in her hands, covering her eyes as Peeta pulls up Marvelous David’s routine on his phone.

 

“I asked him out on your facebook.” 

 

“I don’t have a facebook,” she reminds him.

 

Peeta throws his phone on her coffee table and props his feet up next to it. “You do now,” he explains. She shoves him off balance so he topples over on the sofa, “Okay, sorry! I had to make one. These people might be trying to find you while you’re trying to find them. AKA, Gale Hawthorne who is out of the country.” 

 

Katniss rolls her eyes and scowls at him. Her interest piqued, she looks over at him, as he grabs his phone again, opening up the Facebook app. “What picture did you use?” She leans over him, but he side-eyes her and locks his screen. 

 

“One I took of you sleeping this morning. A bit of drool, but other- Owe!” She shoves him again, maybe even punches him in the arm with more force than she intended. “Okay, okay,” he holds his hands up in surrender. “It’s just your sophomore yearbook picture, the one from your goth days.”

 

“I swear to God Peeta.” 

 

“Got you again,” he jokes with a cracking smile on his face and his hand pushes the ashen blonde hair from his face. 

 

“No pineapple pizza for you.” She tells him seriously, getting up to the kitchen with her cell phone in hand. She pulls the menu from the kitchen drawer and looks it over. She can hear his heavy tread follow her, and before she knows it, his body is looming behind hers. 

 

She pretends not to notice that he’s there, and instead only looks at the menu in front of her, reading words that make no sense to her.

 

His hands ghost over her back, trapping her braid in his grip and maneuvers it to the other side of her face. She feels him lean in, his breath drawing closer to the shell of her ear. 

 

“I’ll give you the password to change it if I can get a slice,” he whispers, and a part of her shiversjust from intimacy. 

 

She elbows him in the gut. 

 

* * *

 

Katniss punches the screen on her phone before she even gets out of the restaurant. The dialing only irritates her more as she stomps through the doors, not even thanking the hostess. She’s about to hang up, say to hell with it. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she wonders why it takes him so long to answer. Wondering if he is with another girl. But she shakes her head, of course he’s with another girl. He’s always with other girls. 

 

"Hello," his deep voice makes her feel at ease. He's her security blanket, her safety net. She realized before she even left the table that he was everything she needed in that moment. Corny jokes and bright smiles. Glossed blue eyes. 

 

"It was terrible," she sighs through the phone not even waiting for his question.

 

"You mean Cato-Douchebag wasn't what you thought," Peeta surmises.  

 

"Don't call him that," she chastises. He laughs, and she smiles with him. Katniss groans, "He was worse." 

 

"Where are you?"

 

"Thirty second and fourth," she stops at the cross walk, imagining him on his sofa, or maybe in his room with a harlot. 

 

"Wanna meet at Chow's?" He asks, and she can hear shuffling around from his end. 

 

"I guess," she feigns indifference, like she didn't just walk out in the middle of dinner with Cato Baxter. Like her stomach hadn't grumbled in protest when she slid her chair out from under her and bid her terrible date to have a nice life. 

 

Honestly, what was she thinking when she decided to go out with Cato Baxter. She's pretty sure, she was thinking desperation. God, he was miserable, like some beefed-up jar-head who peaked too soon in high school. 

 

What an idiot she was thinking she'd lose her virginity to him. 

 

"I'll see you in fifteen." 

 

She locks her phone without saying goodbye and begins to walk over to the restaurant. 

 

The walk is brisk. Her wedges silently pad against the sidewalk as the wind caresses her high cheekbones. Katniss crosses the streets, lost in thought on her way to the Chinese restaurant. 

 

The past few month has been a bust. The biggest bust. If it weren't for Peeta, it would be humiliating, and she would have long ago given up on this entire idiotic idea. But here she is, trudging in a new dress, walking out on dates. Still. A month later.

 

Sure, she'd only been on two dates, but to someone who hasn't dated since the concept of dating died with Blackberrys, that's two too many. 

 

She walks into Chow's, her quicksilver eyes scanning the room for blonde hair. Just before she can ask the host for a table, a light and intense whistle grabs her attention. She looks to her left and sees Peeta standing and waving her over. 

 

With a shrug and smile to the hostess, Katniss walks over to the table he managed to grab in the busy restaurant. 

 

“Hi,” she grumbles, tucking her hair behind her ear, as if she hadn’t just hung up the phone with him. 

 

He smiles and pulls out her chair, “Don’t look so glum.” Collapsing into the chair, Katniss rises a single eyebrow in his direction. He shrugs carelessly, sits across from her, and pulls the menu from its resting spot. 

 

“I want everything,” she says sheepishly, looking over the endless possibilities. She can feel Peeta’s eyes staring at her over his menu. Quickly, she peeks her eyes in his direction and sees his smirk.

 

“The usual?” 

 

Katniss sighs with a nod, “The usual.” She reaches for the glass of water, drinking it as if she were dying of thirst. 

 

Peeta clears his throat, making his voice sound like gravel. Like when he first wakes up, it’s deep and foggy. “So, how was it?” 

 

Katniss grumbles, “A nightmare is making it sound nice.” 

 

“Now you know why I don’t date.” She silences him with a menacing glare. “Continue,” he gestures with his hand and bites his lip with two very white teeth to contain his obvious smile. 

 

“There’s nothing to continue on about. It just sucked.” She shrugs, running her finger along the edge of her glass. 

 

“Did he at least tell you how beautiful you look?” His voice is almost shaking when he says the words, she can hear it without even looking at him. She doesn’t know if she’s flattered or pissed off at that sentence. She wants to claim indifference, like his words mean nothing, but that’s not true.

 

“Yes, just after telling me about his ex girlfriends tits.” 

 

Peeta leans forward, “Tell me about them.” He whispers with a faux deep timber to his voice. 

 

She leans forward, her voice barely above a whisper, “firm and supple…” she trails off huskily.

 

“Continue,” he says with a tilt of his head.

 

“Don’t make me walk out on you too.”

 

He laughs, lounges back and changes the subject. Tells her that the Knicks may actually have a chance this year, it’s looking good for the blue and orange.

 

“Not if us Bulls have anything to say about it.” She smirks, while taking another sip of water. 

 

Their waitress comes over, and they quickly order their meal. Correction, their schmorgesborg. Katniss has never been one to over-order. She grew up in poverty, always wondering where her next meal would be coming from. But with Peeta, it’s not like that. Food is their thing. They binge on greasy things then locate guys for her to have sex with. And she likes that. It’s different, she’s not worried about what he’ll think or who she’s taking this food away from. Instead, Katniss only thinks about how many bites are left until the food is sadly gone. 

 

It’s like he’s always testing her, prodding her out of her comfort zones, making her rethink her once tepid boundaries. (Including fruit.)

 

She likes it. 

 

And after they argue on who will be having the better season, after their plates are empty and their stomachs are full, he leads her out of the restaurant. Peeta’s hand draped carefully and gentlemanly on the small of her back. They remain stoic there, but her stomach still drops with the contact. Wondering why he’s touching her, and why he hasn’t before. 

 

* * *

 

 

Her heels click against the stairs as se painfully climbs them. Whoever invented heels deserves to be thrown in a snake pit with a group of starved anacondas. Those things freak everyone out. 

 

“Elevator broken again?” She hears Peeta call from above her. She stops and looks up, only to see him hanging over the railing. 

 

“No. Women _love_ going up stairs in heels.” 

 

He laughs, “Well then you deserve a treat. I have Chow’s.” 

 

She stops somewhere on the third floor to look at him, “Spare ribs?” 

 

“The tiny ones,” he affirms. 

 

“I’ll be there in fifteen.” She continues to climb the stairs as Peeta disappears behind the staircase and presumably into his room. Forgetting about the pain, she quickly shuffles to her apartment, and toes them off as soon as she gets in. Her phone alights with a facebook message from Tom Aldrich. 

 

She rolls her eyes and reads it as she shimmies out of the dress she somehow stuffed herself into. 

 

“Was really great seeing you again.” 

 

He’s sweet. He’s fine. Too fine. That kind of fine that doesn’t make her want anything, it’s the kind of fine that just makes her think, _awe Thom Aldrich, he’s such a nice guy_. He even bought the twenty-four dollar martini she ordered without a word about it. 

 

Unfortunately, he’s the kind of nice guy that finishes last. 

 

She goes over to Peeta’s in sweats, wearing a full on groufit. Even Peeta mentions something about it when she enters the apartment and she shrugs, because Peeta is, for some odd reason, the only guy she can actually just be around. Be around in sweats, and not have to worry about dresses. 

 

But when she surveys the room and sees two glasses of wine with candles around the apartment she wonders if she should have kept the dress on. 

 

“Are you expecting company?” 

 

Peeta pokes his head up from the fridge where he grabbed the bottle of wine, knowing that she prefers white over red. “No.” He makes his way to the kitchen table and sits, shoveling his unappetizing veggie lo-mein onto his plate. 

 

She sits and grabs the spare ribs from the bag and dumps pork fried rice onto her plate. She groans the second she tastes the ribs. “So good…” 

 

Her eyes meet his. They’re staring intently at her, swirling all types of emotions that she feels like she should be able to decipher. But, she isn’t a mind-reader. 

 

“So who’s coming? Glimmer? Clove?” When he doesn’t respond, she licks her fingers, “Oh! Is it another new one?”

 

She loves the new ones, so many things to talk about after a night with one of the new ones. 

 

“No,” his lips fall at the tips. “I actually think I’m going to take a break from the whole _scene_ for a while.” 

 

Katniss bobs her head in understanding, “Running out a sperm?” 

 

He shakes his head and as he shovels broccoli onto her plate. “Try it.” 

 

“No.” She puts it back on his plate, only to have it wind back on hers. He knows she detests broccoli with a burning passion. She just stabs it with her fork and nibbles it with disgust. Then just plops it into her mouth and chews it thoughtfully. 

 

“It’s okay I guess.” 

 

He smiles that damned smirk again. “Okay.” 

 

“Well, I like the candles,” she tells him honestly. 

 

“Yeah?” he asks almost hopefully, as his smile turns into a full sheepish grin. 

 

“Yeah,” she tells him with a blush. “It’s _okay_ I guess.” 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Katniss’ phone vibrates in her hand. She unlocks her screen and swipes her messages open. 

 

Peeta Mellark: Where are you?

Today at 3:14pm

 

She bites her lip and leans back in the waiting chair she’s sitting in. 

 

I’m shopping with my sister and Jo

Today at 3:15

 

Her fingers linger over the irritated emoji, tempted to let Peeta know just what she thinks of her day thus far. What she thinks of shopping in general, it’s such a waste. But she decides against it when she sees the ellipsis appear, informing her that Peeta is writing again. 

 

 

Peeta: Can I use your bathtub?

Today at 3:15

 

Absolutely not

Today at 3:15

 

“What do you think of this?” Prim asks opening the curtain and revealing a black cocktail dress. Her sister’s blonde hair shines in the light, once again reminding Katniss of how different the two of them are. While Prim has light hair and even fairer skin, Katniss is older, with tanned skin and chestnut hair. Blue eyes, and silver eyes respectively. 

 

Complete opposites. 

 

So it’s only fitting that Prim has her life planned out before Katniss even has an idea of where hers is heading. That’s what their celebrating after all, Prim’s just been accepted as an intern at Panem Hospital. A prestigious feat for anyone. 

 

And while Katniss is happy, ecstatic even, for her sister, she’s also disappointed that their worlds are at complete odds. While her sister’s is being tied with a neat bow, Katniss’ is a fraying rope, her job becoming more strenuous, and her love life literally going no where. Even with all of Peeta’s help, she’s still a twenty-four year old virgin. She wonder’s if they’ll put that on her grave. 

 

“You look beautiful Prim,” Katniss tells her honestly, pride for her sister overwhelming her. 

 

“Can I see the red one again?” Johanna asks, “You look good in red.” 

 

Prim steps back into the dressing room just as Katniss’ phone lights up again. 

 

Peeta: Why is there so much 50 Cent on your iPod?

Today 3:18

 

Katniss rolls her eyes, scowling lightheartedly at her phone. 

 

Listening to a person’s iPod and judging their music is crossing a big line.

Today 3:19

 

She smirks before adding:

 

Some even say it’s a friendship ending line.

Today 3:20

 

“Who are you talking to?” Johanna inquires with a skeptical gaze and raised eyebrows. 

 

Katniss’ eyes dart up to her friend’s after she hits send, “No one important.” 

 

The other girl’s lips purse, and her brown eyes narrow when Katniss’ phone lights up again. 

 

She quickly looks down and shifts her phone away from Johanna’s prying eyes. She opens up Peeta’s message and sees him holding her iPod while sitting bare chested and wet in her bathtub with a cheshire-cat’s smile on his face. 

 

Peeta Mellark: Whoops.

Today 3:21

 

Katniss barks an uncontrollable and unforeseeable laughter. An uncharacteristic laugh, especially for her. It consumes her, and bubbles forth, making Johanna raise an eyebrow. 

 

“Did you just laugh?” Prim asks, her head poking out of the purple changing room curtain. 

 

I want my key back.

Today 3:22

 

Katniss looks up, startled that anyone actually heard her. “What? No- I don't know-I guess,” she dismisses nonchalant, like she laughs all the time, when in fact she doesn't. "I like the black one better," she tells her sister, hoping to change the conversation that's about to happen. 

 

"Oh no, no, no, no," Prim smiles, "Who were you laughing at?" 

 

"Just Peeta," Katniss grumbles and pulls at the end of her braid. When no one speaks she looks up at Prim whose eye's are on Johanna's. "What?" 

 

"Katniss," Prim starts with a sigh.

 

"Peeta Mellark can't be your first fuck," Johanna blatantly takes charge. 

 

"Excuse me," Katniss blanches. 

 

Prim sits next to her sister and grabs her hand. "What I think Jo meant to say is that Peeta is not the kind of guy you want to lose your virginity to." 

 

"He's the guy you screw after your first screw. You know, to get back at your first guy," Johanna surmises. "Girls get attached to their firsts it's a scientific fact." 

 

"It is not," Katniss cuts in, looking to Prim for help. Her sister’s going to be a doctor after all. 

 

Prim shrugs, “There have been studies that say women become more attached after sex because of the hormones released during it. It's not a weird thing." 

 

"Look, Peeta's just a friend. Nothing else." They just don't know Peeta. They know the womanizer Peeta, the Peeta she spent hours on end complaining about. Not this Peeta, the witty, friendly, and helpful Peeta. They don't know her friend Peeta. "He's actually a good guy," she defends. 

 

"He's a trainwreck!" 

 

Katniss' eyes strictly narrow to Prim in utter disbelief. She's never heard Prim talk like that, let alone talk about someone her sister's friends with. Katniss slowly retracts her hands from her sisters grip. When Prim sees her sister's eyes, she shakes her head, "He is." 

 

"What does he even do, Katniss?" Johanna asks, "Sit on your couch all day?" 

 

"That's harsh. He’s an artist.”

 

"We're just trying to help you, okay?" Prim delicately says."We want what's best for you, and we are just worried with how much time your spending with him. We don't want to see you get hurt." 

 

"Thanks, but I can take care of myself." Katniss scowls coldly, throwing her braid over her shoulder and stiffly standing up with her arms crossed over her chest. "Which dress are you getting?" 

 

Prim looks like she wants to continue, or say something else. Her eyebrows furrow across her forehead, making worry lines appear when she should be calm and ecstatic about her news. She should be happy, glowing. Instead, Katniss ruined her little sister's achievement. A sinking panic rises in the pit of her stomach, making her wonder if she ruined her sister's day. 

 

So she smiles, complacently, a tiny brittle one that looks like it could shatter into a million pieces. "I'll be careful." 

 

"That's all I want," Prim says softly. 

 

"Can you, I don't know, just pick a damn dress already so we can eat?" 

 

Prim giggles, "Yeah I guess." 

 

* * *

 

“I want my shirt back, I’m always losing my damned shirts,” he tells her with a pointed stare, as if she were behind the disappearing act of his clothing. 

 

“But it’s so soft,” she pouts. 

 

He gazes at her heavily. “Your pout won’t work.” 

 

They just came from a hiking trip, where he “accidentally” pushed her into the river. So, in retribution she took his shirt and made him walk bare chested down the trail. Telling him that she hoped he had seven thousand mosquito bites on the middle of his back where he couldn’t reach. 

 

“Not only is that unrealistic, but that’s also really cruel,” he told her with a pout. 

 

She informed him his pout wouldn't work, and kept her wish. Then, she stayed in his shirt that reached the middle of her thigh. 

 

At one point, she slipped her jeans off tired of walking in drenched pants, and she swears she saw him watching her every move. 

 

“Maybe you wouldn’t lose so many clothes if you didn't have so many one-night stands,” She tells him defiantly, her hands on her hips. 

 

“So what your saying,” he starts, walking over to her, “Is that I would have more shirts if I was in a steady relationship?” 

 

Katniss shrugs looking up at him, “I guess that’s what I’m saying.” He looms over at her, staring into her eyes trying to pass something through them. 

 

Peeta nods and looks behind her as if in deep thought. Then he suddenly looks down at her, “So then,” he swallows thickly, “Go out with me.” 

 

Katniss stares at him, wondering if she heard him correctly. But then his hands frame her face, and she instantly leans into his touch, as if she had been drowning a thousand lifetimes until this very second. As if her face have never felt skin against it, and was only now needing human touch. 

 

His hands trace her pouting lips, and she instantly releases a sigh. 

 

“O-Okay,” she says fluttering her eyes shut when his lips descent on hers. 

 

It’s chaste, just two lips pressed against each other, until she feels him move. Feels his hands thread into her hair. Feels his mouth suck her lip into his mouth. 

 

She has never experienced a kiss like this, the kind of kiss that she feels in her heart, slowly unlocking its locked secrets. He groans, when she bites his lip and releases her. 

 

He rests his forehead against hers. “We’ll go slow,” he reassures her, blue eyes boring into hers. 

 

She simply nods because has no words. 

 

“Just you know, a little kissing,” he says pecking her on the lips. “Okay a lot of kissing,” he laughs letting his lips slant over hers again. 

 

He then walks her backward until they’re in her bedroom.

 

* * *

 

Whatever Peeta’s definition of slow is, doesn’t correlate with most people’s type of slow. Or at least her slow. Her slow is dates and movies and just chaste kisses. His slow is not that. 

 

It’s been a day. Just 24 hours, and here she is, straddling his hips on her bed. His lips sucking some pulse point on her neck, making her quiver with a need that swallows her whole like constant waves around her. She whimpers into the air, when his hand slithers under her shirt and cups her breast, softly kneading it.

 

She’s never felt like this, she realizes. Not with anyone. And his lips move over hers, biting hers, pulling her in then pushing her out. His teeth nipping a pathway from her jaw to her ear. He’s too much she realizes, too experienced in the best kind of way.

 

She hears a phone ping and starts to get up, only he rolls her underneath him.

Peeta shakes his head at her, his eyes hooded, “Uh-uh.” Then his lips slant over hers, his hips nestled in between her thighs. She’s okay with it, with the feeling the weight on her. 

 

She’s okay with all of it. 

 

Then his phone goes off again and she pulls her lips away from his. “Your phone,” she laughs, pushing his hair from his forehead. 

 

Oh how long she’s wanted to be able to push it away. He shakes his head and leans down again lightly pressing his lips on her cheek. 

 

Somehow, she maneuvers him underneath her and traps his hands above his head. Her hips flush against his, and she can feel the startling evidence of his arousal. 

 

He looks up at her, his eyes adoringly tracing her face. She can feel him all around her, she can taste him in her mouth. 

 

“I like this view,” he says, a smile pulling his flushed cheeks. 

 

And his phone pings again. 

 

She rolls her eyes, and looks at it menacingly on the night table. She reaches for it, as Peeta’s hands trace circles on her back, slowly pulling her shirt up inch by inch. 

 

It’s an unknown number, so she swipes and types in his code. 

 

**212-976-2423** : Hey man, Gale Hawthorne’s still waiting. 

 

Her stomach drops just from the name, and scowls when she keeps reading. 

 

**212-976-2423** : Hasn’t heard anything, that girl still interested? 

 

**212-976-2423** : Let me know, he’s looking to reconnect now that he’s back in the States. 

 

She scrolls up and sees a tiny box “Gale Hawthorne’s Contact Information” Then she sees Peeta’s response. 

 

Thanks man!

March 6th 3:16

 

I owe you one.

March 6th 3:17

 

She stiffens on top of Peeta, realizing that he’s known where Gale was all along. Or at least for a week. When she feels his hands trace patterns on her skin, she pushes him away and fixes her shirt. 

 

“What’s wrong?” he says, sitting up to rest his head on her shoulder. 

 

Only she gets off the bed, tossing his phone in his lap. 

 

“How long have you known where Gale Haawthorne was?” She asks, fear coming back to her now. 

 

“What,” he laughs at her. He picks up his phone and read the texts messages. “It’s not what you think,” he says standing up in front of her. 

 

“I think it’s exactly what I think.” 

 

“No, it’s not,” he tells her putting his phone in his back pocket. 

 

“So what? You got scared that I wouldn’t be a virgin anymore and decided you wanted me for the conquest?” She asks, all fury and venom. 

 

“No I-“ 

 

“I think you should just go,” she says, pivoting on her heal towards her kitchen. 

 

“Katniss, just stop.” he tells her, running his hands through his hair. He follows her, “Yes, I knew where Gale Hawthorne was, but I didn’t think any of that mattered now, not with us.” 

 

“Us wasn’t on May sixth,” she reminds him, taking the dishes from their dinner and throwing them in her sink. 

 

“No, but us has been going on for a while now. You have to of felt it,” He says, reaching for her, getting as close as she’ll allow him. Only she deflects him and goes to the other side of her kitchen isle. “You have to of.” 

 

“Just go. I was stupid to even think you could be the one.” Prim’s and Johanna’s warnings slither into her mind. He’s not the guy, he’s the wrong guy. 

 

“Could be what? The perfect guy doesn’t exist Katniss!” He tells her his voice raising. “I hate to be the one to shatter your ideal world, but he doesn’t.” 

 

“No, but you aren’t even close to _him_.” Katniss says sharply pushing on his chest. “You’re the guy I sleep with after. The guy I use to get back at _him_. You’re nothing but a one night stand and that’s all you’ll ever be!” She punches with her words. 

 

“Yeah? Well, let’s talk about you,” he crosses his arms over his shoulders as his eyes narrow. “You’re so busy trying to be what you think you need to be that you don’t even know what you are! There’s nothing wrong with being a virgin, Katniss! And here you are, auditioning men to lose it to. You’re acting like a child. Getting their hopes up, leading them on, just so you can feel some intimacy!” 

 

Her mind races as she takes in everything he says. Her cheeks flush, not with embarrassment, but with anger. True, unbridled anger. 

 

“Well thank you for telling me what I am. I was really concerned there for a few minutes.” She says coldly, “At least I’m not the one fucking random people just to feel some type of anything! At least I can try and have a relationship, unlike you.” 

 

“That was true until I met you!” He confesses with a shout, slamming his fist on the kitchen table.

 

“Well,” she says slowly, moving past him and opening the door for him. “If you slept with me, I’m sure you would have been long gone by now.” 

 

“Whatever.” He mutters, passing through her door, “I’ll be sure to send you his information.”

 

“Fine.” She says, then slams the door.  

 

It takes a few seconds but she hears his slam from down the hall, and her phone buzzes with what she knows is contact information. 

 

Instead of reaching for it, she falls against the door, wondering what just happened.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you all for your patience. It's really been such a fantastic time writing this, although it's still not what I want it to be, I decided I can't sit with it anymore. I apologize in advance, I'm disappointed in how it turned out, but I hope you guys can enjoy it. 

I want to IMMENSELY thank Gigi ([DandelionLass](http://dandelionlass.tumblr.com/) on FF/AO3/Tumblr) She's actually amazing, and patient, and perfect. This thing was riddled.. okay bombed... with mistakes and she shaped it up and gave me amazing ideas. Thank you so much, I owe you the moon. 

 

The banner is by Any, Loving-Mellark on tumblr.

 

*Please forgive me and note that there is Galeniss in this chapter. If that's a problem, I wouldn't read on! 

 

And... as always, all mistakes are mine.

 

* * *

 

 

_Hi, you’ve reached Gale Hawthorne. Please leave your name, number and a brief message and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. Thanks._

 

“Hi Gale, it’s me, uhm… Katniss Everdeen… Shit. Sorry. I got your number from a-uh friend of mine. I hope that’s okay. Anyway, I was wondering, if maybe you know, you wanted to like get together we could… you know, uhm chill. Or something. Anyway, you have my number now. Just, you know. Call me. Okay, bye… Sorry, by the way, for the worst voicemail of all time.”

 

With a miserable groan, Katniss haphazardly throws her phone down on the mattress, watching as it bounces twice on the new comforter. She scowls at the coverlet on her bed, wondering why she bought it at Home Goods. She’s not sure if she even likes it. 

 

Looking around her room, she notices all the new things piled in different areas. Katniss wonders why she even got them, ignoring the part of her that whispers it was an escape. That feels wrong, dirty, so, she won’t admit it.

 

She’s never been the girl who makes changes to fill the empty void. Never bought things to make herself feel better. Never posted a picture on facebook, captioning her indifference to the world— new hair, don’t care. She’s not that girl. 

 

And still, she’s home on Saturday night, sitting cross-legged on her bed, eyeing her phone, and waiting to hear from Gale Hawthorne, of all people. She’s actually miserable. And this was the opposite of what she thought she’d feel. Instead of what she thought would be excitement thrumming through her veins, Katniss only feels dread - dread for a phone call, and her credit card bill. She wonders how she’d look with shoulder length hair instead of the braid she’s gotten used to.

 

Fuck that. 

 

Katniss won’t let herself admit defeat in the face of stubborn longing. Now that she has her mind set on him - on Gale - she’ll go through with it. She’ll make it be Gale, and no one else. Certainly not someone with blonde hair, blue eyes, and reckless regard for women. No, Gale would literally be the opposite of that. Which is just what she needs. 

 

With a sigh, Katniss stands from the bed and stretches, rising on her toes and reaching her hands overhead, pointing her chest toward the ceiling. She picks her phone up again to see, with little hope, if she missed a text message within the past twenty seconds. 

 

There’s nothing. 

 

Not even a shred of disappointment when she notices the empty screen.

 

Katniss then makes her way towards the kitchen. 

 

She actually left a voicemail for Gale, and not even a good voicemail. It’s a rambling one that will only makes him cringe as he listens to her ums, likes, and awkward pauses.

 

It wasn’t even a cute-rambly-voicemail. Not that she was cute with anything, she was more of the strait and to the point person. No fuss no muss, no flowery words or giggles. Words really aren’t her thing.

 

She should have just texted him.

 

If Peeta were with her, he would have helped, he would have even written the text and hit send. No, she reminds herself, he wouldn’t have. He would have kept lying to her naive face, stolen everything from her, and left her there with nothing. 

 

She grabs a bag of kettle chips and plops on her sofa, loneliness gnawing her again. She almost breaks, almost gets off her couch and walks down the hall, when her phone buzzes on her bed. She can hear it in the empty room, bouncing off the walls. 

 

Katniss jumps up and practically sprints to her bed before looking at the screen. 

 

Gale Hawthorne

 

Her stomach drops, and she watches it for a second before she shakes her head, mentally preparing herself, and answers it. 

 

_________________

* * *

 

 

“Catnip!” Gale smiles at her before standing and enveloping her in a hug. 

 

She smiles stiffly at her old nick-name, trying to not let him see how much it bothers her.

 

But then his large arms gather her, tucking her against his hulking frame, and for a second she feels transported in time to another life: back when Gale Hawthorne was all that she knew. It feels familiar and safe, all of the things that she forgot he’d feel like. 

 

“Hi,” She says, looking him up and down. “Wow you look…” She stares at his cropped hair, his tanned skin, his light eyes. He looks different, foreign, and, yet, oddly similar.

 

“You too,” he says. 

 

They stand there awkwardly just looking at each other, almost forgetting they’re in the middle of some swanky restaurant. 

 

“Sorry,” he shakes his head while apologizing, “please sit.” He gestures stiffly to the chair next to her, and she sits down.

 

She takes her seat across from him and for the first time looks across around the restaurant. It’s fancier than she even expected. Nightlock was the new restaurant, emphasis on the. Anyone, who was anyone, has been trying to dine there. Or at least that’s what a few of her co-workers (Johanna) told her when they found out she was actually going on a date. She knew it was on the higher end just from where it was located on the upper east side of the city, but she didn’t expect to see crystals chandeliers and stately decor. Apparently, there was a three month waiting list. Meaning that Gale must have pulled a few strings to get them a seat.

 

The woman sitting parallel to her is dressed in a black cocktail dress, making Katniss look down at her own pantsuit, wondering if she looked more masculine than she should for a first date.

 

Swallowing self pity, Katniss asks, “So tell me about Europe.”

 

Gale smiles, and launches into the grand explanation of Hawthorne Industries and how expanding the alternative coal company will only help stable the economy. New jobs, he explains with a shrug. 

 

He stops talking when the waiter comes to order their drink. 

 

He scowls at the drink menu. “I guess we’ll have a bottle of pinot noir,” he says to the man, not looking at Katniss for confirmation. 

 

She has to bite her tongue, because even though she was craving a beer, or even a glass of chardonnay, Gale is the one paying for dinner. Whatever he wants, she’ll smile complacently through. 

 

“Of course,” the man nods stoically. To which Gale smiles back.

 

“So how about you?”

 

“What about me?” she asks with a nervous laugh. 

 

Gale rolls his eyes, “What has the elusive Katniss Everdeen been up to these past five years?” 

 

Katniss scowls, as her lips tug down, “Just work I guess, nothing too exciting.” 

 

“I don’t believe that.” 

 

Katniss shrugs, her fingers circling the glass. “I mean, what is there to do in this city besides work.”

 

“Well, your pessimistic attitude definitely hasn’t changed.” Gale laughs. 

 

Katniss scowls, shooting a sharp glare at the man across from her. Before she can grumble a cheap shot at him, the waiter swoops in with a bottle of fine wine, and lets Gale taste it.

 

The waiter pours it carefully into the glass and hands it over to her date. Gale circles the glass, letting the liquid swoosh before inhaling the scent. He downs the taste in his mouth, obviously letting the flavor sit their for a second before swallowing. 

 

“Good,” he nods, putting the glass back on the table. Katniss watches intently as the waiter picks up the glass and fills it again. 

 

As he begins to reach for hers, Katniss lifts it quickly to help him. “Thank you, miss.” 

 

Katniss smiles, “Of course.” 

 

As the waiter leaves, Katniss notices Gale’s frown across from her. “Now who’s the pessimist.” She smirks playfully, lifting the glass to her chapped lips. After she takes a sip, Katniss quickly dabs her lips, partly concerned with how the red wine will stain them. Red has never been her color. 

 

“You shouldn’t do that,” Gale says, straightening up in his seat. 

 

Katniss quickly drops the napkin to her lap, “Oh…” she trails off before apologizing, “Sorry I didn’t-“

 

“No,” Gale sighs, “Not that. You don’t have to help the waiters, they’re there to serve. It’d be like helping a doctor perform surgery.” 

 

“It’s just a gesture, Gale.”

 

Gale frowns more, the corners of his dark lips actually anchoring towards his chin. She doesn’t know what has gotten him so angry or upset, but she knows it’s not worth it. Not worth ruining her date with him.

 

“Nevermind,” Katniss dismisses quickly. “You’re right. In the same way a teacher doesn’t need to help grading papers.” Even as the words leave her lips, she doesn’t find any truth behind them. And when Gale’s lips quirk up quickly, all forgotten about their slight disagreement, if that’s what she even calls it. She feels like she has done something right for once. 

 

The lightened mood awakens Gale in the way she doesn’t remember him. She can still feel their relationship, long and forgotten, pulsing between them, but she also sees the new Gale. The European Gale. 

 

He’s actually quite funny, and his eyes lighten in the chandelier above them when he talks about his company and the success that has breathed life into it. She drinks on, not even realizing when Gale orders her food that she has a light buzz in her head from the wine. But then there’s also the part of him that’s still her Gale, the one she knew from years ago. 

 

He orders her chicken, she hates chicken, but she really likes this wine. Okay, fine, she doesn’t hate chicken. She just didn’t really want chicken, she wanted something more satisfying. But she can’t argue because that — that gesture - that is Gale, taking control of a situation. 

 

When their food comes, she hates that she actually likes the chicken. He remembers her, the things she likes, the things she doesn’t. That thought alone makes Katniss swallow any trepidation she had towards meeting him. For the past week, she wondered if she had made the right decision pushing Peeta out of her apartment and life. 

 

Sitting across from Gale, she realizes she obviously had been right all along. 

 

“So, any people in your life worth mentioning?” Gale asks, as if reading her mind. 

 

Katniss merely shakes her head, pulling on the tips of her hair that falls in loose waves across her shoulders. She thinks of blonde hair and toothy smiles. With a deep breath, she lets go of her hair and drops her hands onto the table next to her empty wine glass and clean plane. No, there aren’t any people worth mentioning. 

 

Gale sits forward and reaches for her hand, gently grabbing it and rubbing smooth circles. “Me either,” He admits. 

 

Her heart stutters in her throat from the close contact, every fiber in her being telling her to let go of him and look away, but instead she shyly smiles. The waiter floats over grabbing the bottle, obviously intending to grab her glass and fill it. Katniss just continues to stare at Gale, not even reaching to help her waiter. 

 

Gale smiles. 

 

“The check when you get a chance,” Gale tells the waiter.

 

After Gale pays the bill quickly, he reaches for Katniss’ hand and pulls her from the restaurant. “It’ll take you home.” he says. It’s not a question but a demand, like she’s not even given the choice to walk.

 

“That’s okay, it’s not far from here,” Katniss dismisses.  

 

Gale rolls his eyes and scoffs, “Just let me take you.” 

 

Katniss frantically searches for a way out of this. It’s not that she doesn’t want him to take her, it’s that she feels bad. If he brings her home, is she supposed to ask him up? Is he going to expect it? Is she going to allow it? 

 

He knows that she came just from work, probably took a cab or the subway over. He leads her to the valet and produces his slip, giving it to the man dressed in maroon. 

 

He never lets go of her hand, and instead Katniss feels his grip intensify, as if he won’t let her leave. And that is what makes her anxiety grow, her stomach drop. 

 

Gale drives a Maserati, one of those sports cars you only see in movies like Fast & Furious. The only reason she knows what it’s called is because of Peeta… and as soon as his name comes to her mind, she grips Gale’s hand harder. He peers over at her with furrowed eyebrows, wondering why her grip changed from limp to firm.

 

The door opens and she enters, actually sitting gracefully, as Gale makes his way around. 

 

Their ride is quiet, calm, easy. There’s no sexual tension, but the air between them isn’t dead. It’s like two friends rekindling, which is exactly what they are. Somewhere through her purse Katniss feels her phone vibrate, but she doesn’t feel the need to look at it, she’s too focused on Gale and his profile. The way his jaw tenses when he catches a red light, or when he talks about his brother, Rory, wondering if he’ll ever actually get his life together. 

 

“I swear, the kid feels no need to prove himself at all.” Gale shakes his head. 

 

“Maybe he needs to learn responsibility?” 

 

“You can’t teach it to someone if they don’t want it. You know? He won’t learn until he wants to learn.” Gale sighs, turning onto her street. 

 

“I know what you mean.” Katniss shrugs, thinking about someone else that sounds like. How they don’t take any real responsibility, and instead spend their days painting and nights fucking. How that person is in his mid-twenties and still living like a college student who never learned how to grow up. Never learned how to care for someone else or how to take someone else into consideration. 

 

But she doesn’t want him to ruin her night, again. She wants to think of something else, something more… realistic. 

 

Before she knows it, or she can think of something else to say, they’re in front of her dingy apartment building. Gale is circling the car, and opening the door for her to get out. He reaches for her hand and walks her to the door.

 

Gale turns to her silently, the cars are the only sound in the distance. “It was really nice to see you, Catnip.” 

 

He reaches out and puts a piece of hair behind her ear. Then his palms, grasp her jaw, lifting her face up to tilt towards him. He leans down swiftly and lightly presses his lips against hers. The kiss is not fireworks, but it’s not absolutely terrible. It’s in between, sitting somewhere between. Hers wine stained lips are chapped and his are wet, and she knows that she should feel something more than content. But it’s not bad. She doesn’t feel like she wants to pull away. She doesn’t feel terrified of what’s to come. And when his lips leave hers, his hands still cup her face, lightly running circles on her cheek. 

 

“Do you want to come up?” She asks bluntly, not even feeling the familiar drop she has when scared. 

 

Gale’s eyes darken suddenly, his hands dropping from her cheek to her shoulders, and she knows that whatever she’s about to feel isn’t pleasure. 

 

“There’s nothing I’d love more,” he starts. 

 

“Then why do I sense a ‘but’ coming on?” 

 

Gale sighs and drops his gaze from her hair to her eyes. “Because, Katniss, whoever was before this, whoever has been on your mind the whole night, I won’t share our night with him. When we do have our night, it will happen because we’ve both waited long enough for it. I want him to be the last thing on your mind.” 

 

She stares at him for two beats before he leans down and kisses her forehead. Katniss nods numbly, not feeling rejection or hurt, just feeling curiosity. Wondering how he’d known or how, even after all these years, he was still able to read her. 

 

“How?” 

 

Gale shrugs, “You’ve always shown your thoughts on your face.” 

 

She nods again, to which he leans down and kisses her lips one last time, lingering there sweetly. “I’ll see you soon.” 

 

Then Gale turns away and walks back to his car. Her hand stumbles into her bag, trying to feel for her keys, when she hears his car start again. She takes a break from looking through her bag to wave Gale off as he speeds away. 

 

She goes back to her bag, pulling out each and every thing inside it. She sits on the steps, carelessly dropping the contents onto the stoop. Finally, Katniss slams her bag down, giving up once she realizes that her keys are sitting on her kitchen counter or her desk at work. 

 

She gets up, brushing the dirt off her black trousers. With renewed determination, she looks at the speakers, finding familiar names she can buzz to let her in. She first tries Abernathy, figuring that if a drunk landlord had any hour to be up, it would be eleven o’clock at night. 

 

But he isn’t there. Her fingers go down the list of names and land on P. Mellark, apartment 608. A small part of her desperately wants to push the button and find out if he is home. And if he is home, she wants to interrupt the company he almost certainly would have over. 

 

But the other part of her wants to push the button to just see him. 

 

His blonde hair, his teeth, his chest, his bright blue eyes. 

 

How did they go from seeing each other almost everyday to never speaking again? How does anyone do it. She’ll admit she misses him, but nothing more. Because, for some odd reason, Peeta Mellark was one of her best friends.

 

Gale was right. He is still on her mind, like an incessant white noise. She craves him. But the other part of her never wants to see him again, because seeing him might make her change every decision and make her realize they were more than friends.

 

She isn’t weak, but he makes her want, carelessly. And before she can make up her mind, she hears her name being called from behind her.

 

“Katniss?” 

 

It’s a feminine voice, one she can’t place. Katniss turns around to look behind her and finds a mess of red hair carrying a brown bag. 

 

606\. Annie… Cresta? 

 

“Hey Annie,” Katniss starts casually throwing her hair over her shoulder. 

 

“Are you locked out?” She asks, with wide green eyes. 

 

Katniss shrugs, looking at the ground, “Yeah, I left my key upstairs.” 

 

Annie nods and pulls her key out of her back pocket. “Did Peeta not answer?” 

 

The question is harmless really, but it still knocks the wind from Katniss, catching her off guard. A part of her wonders how Annie knows, if everyone knows. But they couldn’t, she must have seen them together, walking up the stairs, down the hallway, going into each other rooms. Annie and Peeta shared a wall, surely she heard all the noise that comes from him regularly. Does Annie really think so lowly of her that she would be with a man who constantly cheated on her?

 

“I actually hadn’t had the chance to ring him yet. Didn’t want to wake him.” 

 

Annie shrugs, “I never hear… things,” she chooses her words cautiously, looking at the ground, “From him anymore. You’re probably right not to wake him.” 

 

Katniss smiles bitterly at the red head. She's not at all upset with how Annie knows more about Peeta’s life than she does, or angry about what the things are - the moans from his room. Instead, she has to remind herself that she wanted nothing to do with Peeta’s life, not after what he did to her. 

 

Annie opens the door and holds it for Katniss to get in. The girls fall in step with each other, not speaking. A part of that resonates with Katniss, making her feel almost more at ease. 

 

As they get to the top of the landing Katniss tells her a quick thank you, and to have a good night, but Annie stops outside her door and looks at Katniss with this pleading look. 

 

“You know he’s in love with you, right?” She asks, tilting her head to the side. 

 

“I… I’m sorry, what?” 

 

“He’s a guy, and he’ll pretend that he doesn’t, but he does. Trust me they’re all the same. The way he looks at you… well, only one man’s ever looked at me like that.” Annie gets this distant look in her eyes that glass over with tears.

 

Katniss merely nods, her eyebrows furrowed, and begins to thread her fingers through her hair. 

 

“Well, anyway…” Annie shrugs dismissively, opens her door and steps inside it. “Have a good night Katniss.” 

 

“You too.” Katniss watches her neighbor disappear through her door. And as she begins to walk away, she finds herself standing outside Peeta’s door. There’s not a sound from inside, not even a scent of fresh baked bread. There’s nothing as if he’s not there. 

 

She reaches her palm, just wanting to feel the wood beneath her fingers to see if it feels like before. But her hand never lands on the door because she lets her hands fall to her sides. She shakes her head and chuckles a bit. Wondering if she actually is going crazy. 

 

Peeta Mellark would be a mistake. 

 

_________________

* * *

 

 

Gale shows up at her door promptly at seven p.m., just when he said he would. For a split second Katniss realizes how rare that is, not just for men, but specifically for Gale. 

 

Gale was always the kind of person who would say seven, and show up at ten. He would call to push it back thirty minutes, an hour, two hours. Very rarely had he shown up on time, yet here he is, buzzing her apartment call box from six floors below, at exactly 7:00 p.m. 

 

It’s completely unexpected, and absolutely necessary. It just reinforces all of the character changes Katniss has recognized over the past two weeks since their first… date. 

 

Yes, two weeks. Two weeks and no sex. Part of Katniss was pissed, angry, and impatient, while the other part of her… the other part, the smaller side, was relieved that they haven’t had the moment, yet. Besides, she feels like she should tell him that she’s a virgin.

 

Throwing her purse over her shoulders, Katniss looks around her apartment one more time. Come hell or high water, he’ll be here tonight. She sighs, stepping out to the hallway and locks her door, staring at the wood for just a second while she gathers her thoughts. Tonight Gale will be here and she’ll tell him the truth, and then they’ll have sex. It’ll be clinical. Easy.

 

It’s not like he’ll care, it’s Gale for Christ’s sake. She’s known him her whole life and he’s the least judgmental person she’s ever met. 

 

When she finally makes it downstairs, she sees Gale sitting in his car and staring at his cell screen with a scowl on his face. Katniss taps on the window, making his head shoot up to look at her. He unlocks the door and she slips in, the leather feeling cool on her bare legs. 

 

“You look nice,” he compliments before stepping on the gas. 

 

“Thanks,” she smiles, tucking her bangs behind her ears. 

 

Gale makes a quick right turn. “So I have two tickets to this Gallery opening, I was told a few colleagues would be there. Do you mind stopping with me before dinner?” 

 

“Not at all, I love art," she replies. 

 

She’s actually pretty indifferent to art, it’s a frivolous hobby that has no point in her life. Pointless paint strokes on a blank canvas isn’t art. But she’d go with Gale, if only because he wants to.

 

“Good.” 

 

The drive is quiet and tense, making her stiff in her seat. They finally pull up to a building on her side of town (the less fancy side) with large windows, that filter a yellow light onto the street. From the outside she can see the people milling around, drinking wine and walking through the exhibit, as the stems of their glasses dangle carelessly between their fingertips. A line of at least twenty people stand outside, waiting to get into the event, and just the sheer number of people makes her terrified.

 

Gale parks the car and takes her hand when she gets out, pulling her quickly into the building. 

 

“We won’t have to stay long. I promise.” 

 

“It’s fine,” she assures him, letting her hand drop from his grip, hoping that he can’t see through her facade. As soon as they walk in, she immediately grabs a glass of wine to calm her nerves.

 

The artist, whoever he or she is, is good. The title of their exhibit is Domesticity, something Katniss has never experienced in her life. When she walks through, taking a second to appreciate each picture, she realizes how beautiful they are and how much she wants it, to have someone. 

 

Gale tells her about the artist, about how he’s some prodigy who only recently found his footing after a hundred miss-steps. He was the artist everyone wanted to host, the artist who lost it all, his imagination, his passion, his ambition. Only recently has he come back, Gale told her, but to her, looking at the paint strokes, it seems like he never left.  

 

The artist’s use of colors brings to life everyday images that go unnoticed. Hands with paint-chipped nails, a shadow against a door, the ground with grass with two pairs of shoes off in the distance. She can actually see the grass blowing, feel the wind on her face while looking at it. This is not the kind of art she’s use to, the kind that’s modern and commenting on society; no, this was true beauty.

 

“Well, it’s obvious the artist has a muse,” she hears Gale say behind her. 

 

Katniss scrunches her eyebrows, looking at the painting of two pairs of shoes piled intimately on the grass. “What do you mean?” 

 

“It’s the same girl over and over.” 

 

Katniss looks over her shoulder, giving Gale a confused look. He takes a step to her right, grabbing her arm lightly and then squeezing it experimentally. “Two pairs of shoes, one’s a pair of sandals with gold studs on them. A girl’s shadow, a girl’s hand, a girls face covered in the same dark hair as the first picture when we walked in.” 

 

Katniss looks around at the paintings again, looking at them in succession instead of individual pieces. She has to agree: the artist definitely has a muse, a woman.

 

“They’re beautiful,” she agrees, looking at something she never has before.

 

She feels Gale drop her arm, as he looks somewhere past her. “Excuse me, I think I see a colleague over there. Do you mind?” 

 

“Not at all,” Katniss smiles at him, even though he was already walking away from her, not really asking for permission to begin with.

 

Katniss turns back to the painting, to the grass with the shoes and a light shadow of two people-two lovers, from what her little understanding of art she can understand. 

 

Then, a shadow spills over her and onto the canvas. She smells him, the dill and cinnamon, before she hears him, which is unusual because his tread is usually so heavy, so loud and deafening. Maybe it’s his shadow, his broad shoulders that she’s held onto one too many times. Or maybe it’s just the hairs on her neck that stand on edge whenever he’s around. Either way, he’s there, behind her, standing so close she can almost feel the heat of him on her back; she wants to fall into him, feel him. 

 

“Hi,” he greets, a whisper of his voice. She almost forgot what he sounded like, and a part of her hurts just listening to him. 

 

“Hi,” she whispers back, as he settles next to her.

 

She looks up at him, at his strong jaw that is tense as he looks at the painting, his eyes sweeping over the image. 

 

“Why are you here?” He bites out his words in a deep tone, asking the question laced with bitterness, as the tips of his hair fold over his forehead. 

 

“I came with Gale. He had two tickets.” 

 

Peeta’s eyes scan the room, obviously looking for the man she came with.

 

She folds her arms over her chest, not letting him see how he’s affecting her, not letting him see how badly she wants to reach out with her shaking hand and brush his blonde hair our of his eyes. 

 

He mirrors her stance, as she looks back at the picture. But from the corner of her eye, she can see his eyes lovingly caress the strokes. He looks at the painting like it’s part of him.

 

“This is you… you’re the artist.” 

 

“In the flesh,” he says once again with the heavy tone. 

 

“You’re very talented.” She can feel, rather than see, Peeta’s eyes on her, watching her, tracing the lines of her profile.

 

“So I’ve been told.” Even though the sentence is rough, and coarse, his tone, for the first time tonight, is like air, floating between them. 

 

Katniss makes the mistake of meeting his gaze. He looks at her, his blue eyes dancing in the light, shimmering cerulean colors, and trapping her plain-drab eyes. She forgot how beautiful they were, how playful and light and youthful. How it was impossible to look away once her gaze locked with his. They are entranced, lost in each other, re-learning each other, as words and people float around them. 

 

“Katniss…” he trails off, his eyes letting her know how much pain he’s in. His blue eyes darken and his lips turn down. “I miss you.”

 

She swallows air, waiting a few seconds before she remembers to exhale. It’s only been twenty three days without Peeta Mellark in her life, but it feels like a painful and torturous eternity. She’s never wanted to touch someone more than in this moment, and even though a small side of her is repulsed by him, by his carelessness for her, the larger part of her misses him too. 

 

“Peeta, I…” 

 

“Who is this?” Gale slithers behind he. 

 

Katniss feels his hand rest on her lower back, pressing firmly and reminding her that she’s here with Gale, not with Peeta. 

 

Peeta’s eyes dart to Gale behind her, a darkness sweeps over his eyes, before his lips turn up to mask his emotions. “I’m Peeta,” he greets casually, thrusting his hand in Gale’s direction, and a part of her hates when Gale holds onto Peeta, touching him when she can’t. 

 

It takes her a few seconds, before she remembers that the two don’t know each other. And Gale, being the proper prat he is, waits or her to introduce them. 

 

“Right, sorry.” Katniss shakes her head forgetting any blank thoughts pushing through her and points to Gale, “Gale this is Peeta, Peeta this is Gale my…” she trails off, looking up at Gale. Her friend, her boyfriend? She isn’t sure what he is or if she wants to tell Peeta, because admitting what he is takes away from what they, Peeta and Katniss, could be. Or could have been. 

 

She’s not with Peeta, he has no chance to be with her, he doesn’t deserve her, that’s atleast what she reminds herself.

 

“It’s nice to meet you.” Peeta quickly covers for her letting go of Gale’s hand.

 

“You the artist?” Gale asks gruffly. 

 

Peeta just nods sheepishly, running his hands through his hair and making it stand up in wild angles. “Today I am.” 

 

“How long have you been painting?” 

 

“Since he could grab a pencil.” Katniss blurts to Gale, a heat surfacing her cheeks as she remembers what she’s talking about. Who she’s talking about. “Sorry,” she apologizes looking to Peeta, watching his eyes cloud, masked with thoughts. 

 

She remembers when he told her his past love for painting. When she watched him doodle on a stained paper napkin at Chow’s after eating too much fried rice. His tongue pushed against his bottom lip, his eyes screwed in concentration, and his hands floated over the paper as if it were a delicate canvas. He drew her with a pig nose, because that’s what she said she was after eating all that food. He claimed he wasn’t, and she insisted they both were. Then he drew her, with sharp eyes and a round nose and ears. 

 

It was quite accurate. 

 

She asked him how long he’d been drawing, he responded since his piggish hands could grab a pencil.

 

Katniss laughed, the food and his presence warming her. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Gale asks with dark eyes and a tight mouth, “How do you guys know each other?” 

 

“We’re uh…” 

 

“We’re neighbors,” Peeta finishes for her, nudging his elbow against her side, to which she squirms away from his electrifying touch. 

 

“Right…” She can feel Gale’s eyes bouncing between Peeta and her, so she studies the ground between them, on Peeta’s shoes, the same in the painting. She thinks Gale sees it too.

 

“Well, it was nice to meet you Peter.” Katniss winces at Gale’s mispronunciation, and looks up in time to see Peeta’s smile falter. “But I think we should leave if we want to keep our reservations. Right, Katniss?” 

 

Katniss eye’s instantly meet Gale’s over her shoulder and nods, brushing a piece of hair behind her ear. She looks back at Peeta, both their eyes searching for something more than a few stolen minutes. She gets out, “Bye Peeta,” before Gale is brushing her through the gallery and out onto the busy street. 

 

When they finally make it to her car, Gale gets in, waiting for Katniss, his hands gripping the steering wheel. He drives, weaving through the city as a blanket of complete silence overthrows them. 

 

“Is that him?” Gale finally asks, somewhere on the street near their restaurant. 

 

“Who?” 

 

Gale grunts in disapproval. “Is that the guy you were seeing before me? Is he the one that’s keeping you so far away.” 

 

“What?” Katniss spits out, turning in her seat to look at Gale, her heart racing in her chest, painfully beating. She ignores it, ignores all of the parts of her that whisper Peeta has infected her, making her forever his. “Not at all. Peeta’s just my neighbor. We’re not even close really.” 

 

A small part of herself also whispers, liar.

 

She’s a liar. 

 

Gale nods solemnly, one of his hands dropping from the steering wheel and reaching for hers. She immediately regrets it when he finds her palm, but what she regrets more is that she doesn’t even want him to touch her. She doesn’t want his skin on hers. 

 

“You’d tell me though right, Catnip?” Gale asks, his words beseeching her in the car when his eyes cannot.

 

“Of course.” 

 

Gale nods, and brings his hands back to the steering wheel, driving them off to dinner. 

 

 

_________________

* * *

 

 

Their dinner was quiet, and stiff. Broken almost. She’s sure that Peeta’s presence was at the table, between them, shouting at her through all of Gale’s stiff smiles and carefully calculated words. She’s realized that while her dinners with Peeta were calm and full of painful laughter and smiles, Gale’s are brittle and quiet, filled with fine wine and foods that don’t actually fill her up. 

 

When Gale finally pulls up to her house, the silence becomes deafening. She thought tonight would end differently. 

 

But it doesn’t have to, it can still be the same, she reminds herself quietly. So, she decides after Gale finds a parking spot and walks her to her door, and he’s standing under the fluorescent lighting of her building. 

 

 “Do you want to come upstairs?” 

 

Gale’s eyes squint, as if weighing the pros and cons of going upstairs with her. Then finally, he answers with a barely stiff nod. 

 

And her stomach plummets, fear gnawing at her being as she searches inside her bag for her keys, cursing at her shaking fingers that can’t seem to grasp onto the metal. She finally pulls them free and shoves them into the door, pushing it open and getting inside. 

 

The elevator is fixed. She sees it there, and Gale leans forward to call for it. She’s about to suggest to take the stairs when the doors open, revealing the newly renovated inside. Gale steps in first, quirking his head to the side, waiting for her to enter. She finally takes a step forward as the doors begin to shut.

 

“What floor?”

 

“Sixth,” Katniss chokes out. 

 

He presses the button quickly, and the elevator, while newly improved, still begins a traitorously slow decent, mocking Katniss. 

 

Gale’s hands brush against her arm, pushing her hair away from her cheek. She’s immediately terrified of his hands, of where they’ll be. He leans down and kisses her cheek, his hands resting against her shoulders. The tension between them builds and Katniss hates every torturous second of it. Then the door finally opens and Katniss can breathe again, feeling calm until Gale’s body is pressed behind hers, forcing her down the hall and towards her apartment. She passes Annie’s door, Peeta’s door, hoping that neither are home, and at the same time hoping one of them intercedes. 

 

When she finally gets to her room, she pushes it open with her key again. She hears a door down the hall open, and she locks eyes with him. With Peeta. And she can see his entire body slump, feel his disappointment strip away her dignity. 

 

Gale doesn’t look behind him, perhaps he knows who’s standing there, keeping Katniss entranced. Instead, he pushes the door open wider for her to step in, and she does slowly, letting Peeta’s gaze pour over her and drown her. 

 

When she gets in her apartment, she realizes it’s too hot, too clean. This isn’t her. Gale isn’t her, Gale is her past. An onslaught of thoughts pour from her, making her regret every decision that brought her here. 

 

“Katniss,” Gale murmurs against her ear, making her flinch uncomfortably. “What’s wrong,” he scowls, looking at her, truly looking at her, since the moment they stepped through her wood door.

 

She wants to confess everything, but instead she juts her chin out, bringing her hands to his shoulders, her stubbornness infecting every part of her rationality. 

 

“Nothing,” she says, leaning up into him. 

 

His lips crash down onto hers, lifting her effortlessly and carrying her to her bed. She ignores that he tastes like fine wine, instead of beer, ignores that his hair is cropped short and hardened with product, instead of soft inches threading between her fingers. She ignores it all and focuses on him, his chest, his lips, her hope and stinging regret. 

 

She doesn’t lose herself in him, doesn’t feel scared when he cages her on the bed. Not even when he presses down on her, almost suffocating her. No, it happens when his hands grasp hers above her head and pin them to the mattress. When his hands begin to rise the hem of her shirt and he bites on her neck, her mind, her rationality suddenly awakens, telling her it’s not suppose to be like this. It’s not suppose to be him. Pulling out his grasp, she fights against him, and at first he welcomes it, grasping her harder. His one hand climbing higher. Until she pushes him off of her violently. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Gale gasps out, sitting beside her on her bed, as she tugs her shirt back down, running her hands over her hair trying to regain some dignity. He’s facing her closet, his head hanging and staring at something on the floor.

 

“It’s okay,” she mutters, standing from the bed, ignoring the part of her that whispers it’s not. 

 

“I think I should go.” 

 

“I think you should too.” 

 

She can feel Gale’s eyes swivel and stare at her back. “You should have told me.” 

 

“Told you what?” She asks.

 

She turns to look at him as he shakes his head and pulls on his pants, making room for himself. “That you’re in love with him. Jesus Katniss, what was this? Some type of game with him?”

 

“What?” Her eyes flashing an angry glare. “No-”

 

“What about me? Did you think how I would feel about this, being stuck in the middle of some lovers spat.”

 

“This isn’t a lovers spat, Gale. We were never lovers.” She fights the water that begins to pool in her eyes, knowing full well that she’ll never be anyone’s lover. 

 

Gale shakes his head and scoffs, at her obvious weakness. “Oh I know Katniss. You’re as frigid as you were seven years ago.” 

 

A part of her breaks at the word. That word. The word he’s called her once before, the word that has lingered in the back of her mind for years. Perhaps it’s even the real reason she’s tried so hard to find someone to lose her virginity to. So she wouldn’t be that. 

 

Frigid.

 

Prude.

 

Stony. 

 

The word that’s followed her around for years. She loses the battle with her watery eyes and doesn’t even push the tears away as they begin to fall. It feels like she’s standing outside herself, watching as water pours down her cheeks. 

 

He walks towards the end of her apartment, towards the door that leads to her hallway. “Do yourself a favor, and don’t ever look for me again.” She looks to where he was staring and she sees gold sandals like in the painting.

 

And then Gale is gone with the slam of a door and she’s alone. Again. 

 

Forever alone. 

 

She collapses on the bed, tears drying, steely resolve taking place. She won’t be weak. 

 

And still she loses herself in this moment, recounting the seconds that led her here. Losing herself in words that should mean nothing to her, but instead explain everything. 

 

She hates herself. Hates her weakness. 

 

She vaguely notices the door creak open, the clock on her table reads two-thirty am.

 

And this time, not only does she smell him, but she hears his distinct gait on the ground. He falls into the bed behind her, gathering her in his arms. And she feels settled, calm, not alone. 

 

“Did he…” Peeta breaths into her ear, letting the words hang. 

 

She shakes her head, not trusting her voice to be strong, as the tears start to fall again, probably from fatigue. She tells herself it’s not from Gale, but from her own stupidity for the last three weeks and telling herself that she should forget about the past.

 

He doesn’t kiss her head, but merely rests his mouth against her hair. “I’ll go. I just had to check.” He begins to pull away. 

 

“Peeta,” Katniss turns finally, seeing the bags under his eyes. He looks at her from the side of her bed he’s standing near. “Stay with me?” 

 

Peeta looks at her, nods, probably not able to look away from her tear stained face, and gets back into the bed, toeing his shoes off. He settles in, pulling her on top of him. Her hand rests against his chest, grabbing the cotton underneath her nails, as she finally nestles into him. 

 

“Always,” she hears him whisper before the darkness takes her, claiming her for its own.

_________________  


* * *

 

 

_Two Months Later_

 

 

The sheets feel cool against her naked skin, making her shiver into reality. Katniss feels the fall draft coming in from the open window. For a brief second, she forgets why it is open in the first place. Then the night comes back to her. Twisting with her in between the sheets, she pats the bed next to her, and while she can still feel lingering heat, the space is empty. Holding the sheet to her chest like some cliche, she sits up in bed. At first, fear makes its presence in her stomach, rolling with her emotions. She's scared that he’s left her abandoned naked in her bed returning back to his old ways. But then, she remembers the past two months with Peeta, his devotion, his pushing, his demand that they wait. Wait. Katniss knows that he’s here somewhere. 

 

She hears him blundering in the kitchen, a glass reverberating against her stone countertops, a curse. She smiles slightly at his frustration. 

 

Grabbing the top sheet around her and tucking it under her arms, Katniss stands up and walks towards the kitchen, part of the linen dragging behind her. She sees him before he even registers her. His naked back is to her as he’s filling a glass of water and settling it on the counter. It’s then that she notices that he’s fully nude, his pert backside only lit by the light flittering in through the windows. 

 

Peeta braces both of his hands on the counter and hangs his head, his back muscles rippling. She makes her way so close to him that all she would have to do is lean forward to kiss the spot on his back between his shoulder blades where a small scratch is red against his otherwise pale skin. She flushes slightly at the evidence of earlier. 

 

She wraps her arms around him and presses her lips intimately against his skin. She can taste him, his sweat, maybe even herself on his skin. 

 

“You stealin’ from me?” She playfully drawls through a coarse voice.

 

Katniss feels Peeta lean back into her arm slightly before he turns, and she’s greeted with his chest. “You caught me.” He greets her with a genuine smile, ducking his head to press his lips against her forehead. “Why are you up?” 

 

“Because I heard some fool trying to steal from my kitchen.” 

 

Peeta takes her hands from behind his back and gently kisses both before putting the glass of water in one hand and two small white tablets in her other. “That’s for you.” 

 

“Drugging me too?” She smiles, quickly takes them and gulps the water down. “Thank you.”She looks at him, smirking at her. The hair on her head escaped from the braid the night before and is probably knotted into a nest. “How long was I asleep?” 

 

“Five minutes, not even.” He shrugs, pulling her tighter in his arms, as if the thought of her being even an inch away is too far. Then, after a deep breath in, he loosens his grip and lets her take a step back. 

 

“I like your outfit. Very chic.” He smiles, his eyes team down her body, darkening when he gets back to her eyes. 

 

A heat flushes her face and in between her thighs, as she takes another sip of water. She puts it down on the counter. “This old thing?” Her fingers roam the top of the sheet, tracing her skin. “I kind of thought you’d like me out of it more.” 

 

She reaches to where the fabric is tucked and playfully pulls on the sheet. 

 

Peeta groans, deep in his chest as his lips find the top of her head again. Her eyes drop down to see his cock stirring for her attention, and she only feels obliged to give it to him. 

 

“I actually think I’m a little overdressed,” Katniss continues, pulling the sheet and letting it drop to the floor. She smiles wickedly at his reaction. His wide dark eyes, that make the blue seem almost black. His Adam's Apple, bobbing as he swallows a guttural moan. 

 

“Babe,” he whispers into her ear, pulling her closer as his hands roam around her back. “You’re killing me.” 

 

She smiles sensually, reaching her hands to his hair and relishing in the feel of his skull underneath her fingertips. Her lips find the shell of his ear and bite down, tugging on it as his hands float over her butt cheeks. 

 

“I’ve created an insatiable monster,” he tells no one, picking her up effortlessly in his arms and walking back towards the bed. 

 

She falls on the mattress with a bounce and can feel his eyes roam all over, pulling secrets from her body. Katniss props her feet on the bed, spreading them slightly. Because if he was going to look, she might as well give him something to look at. 

 

She’s never felt this brazen before, never this wanton, but under his scrutiny, with heat thrumming through her veins, she feels like she’s not herself. Or maybe, for the first time in her uneventful life, she is herself. She needs him now as much as she needed him the first and second time. It’s like Katniss needs Peeta to breathe, needs the pressure of him inside of her, on top of her.

 

Peeta reaches for her feet, kissing the insides of her soles. Then his lips touch the arch of her foot. He starts crawling up the bed, kissing a path to the center of her thighs as he goes, not leaving any skin untouched. His lips are soft and his breath is hot, making her entire being burn alive. But she needs him higher, and higher, a little more to the left. 

 

When he’s finally where she wants him, she pulls herself up, leaning back on her forearms to see him. His blonde curls mixed in with her trimmed brown hair, and when he looks up at her, his eyes dark with arousal, she only becomes slicker. Then his tongue darts out, stroking her between her folds, drinking her. She falls to the bed and her hands go into his hair automatically. 

 

This isn’t the first time he’s gone down on her, it’s actually one of his favorite pastimes. But tonight, after what they did, after they’ve finally consummated their relationship, it feels more intimate. His lips ghost over her clit, raised, sensitive, and pulsating. His tongue fucks her just where he was inside her, and his fingers are thick and pulling and entering. Then she’s coming hard around his lips and on his tongue. Her eyes screw shut as her hands pull him up. She kisses him, sucking his lip into her mouth and biting on it. 

 

She tastes herself on him, but it doesn’t even faze her. 

 

“Peeta,” she whispers when he pulls back to kiss where her neck and shoulder meet. “Please.” 

 

She feels him pressing heavily in between her thighs. Then he whispers three delicate words as he enters her. Words he told her earlier tonight before she fell asleep. And, unlike what she thought would be her response, it’s the opposite. She welcomes them, like her body welcomes him. 

 

Sure, there’s still a twinge of pain when he enters from the newness, but his fingers are there, rubbing circles on her clit. She decides that the words feel as good as his fingers. They don’t terrify her like intimacy used to. And if there’s one person who she should say those three words to, it’s him. 

 

So, after she whispers them back as she falls apart beneath him. 

 

 

* * *

 

I'm [BottledMichelle](http://bottledmichelle.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.


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